


Photographic Detail

by siggen1



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3725293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siggen1/pseuds/siggen1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan left Sports Night, and they were fine, for a while, until they weren’t. Four photos that almost makes Dan call Casey, and one that really does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photographic Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by my best girl sevsgirl72.
> 
> In loving memory of one of my favorite Sports Night writers, phoebesmum, 1955-2013. I kind of wish this had turned out fluffier, in her honor.

**I.**  
"Get a copy of the _Enquirer_ ," Dana's voice commands from the little speaker on his machine as soon as the beep ends. He's hung over, and she hasn’t been his boss for almost a year now. He regrets checking the machine on his way back from the head and wants nothing more than to go back to bed with a gallon of water and a family pack of aspirin. Something in Dana's voice still has him out the door in seconds wearing his sleeping sweats and the closest available jacket.

It's a series of three photos. They're grainy and dark, taken with a crappy phone camera in some club, but that's clearly Casey, and the person he's kissing in the second picture is clearly a guy. Fuck. Fuck-fuck-fuck. He considers calling Casey, but it's eleven a.m and all hell must have been loose in Casey's world for hours already. He's pretty sure he'd be piling it on, so he calls Dana back instead.

"Of course I’ve talked to him," she says peevishly. "He called me at six-oh-five, right after his publicist called _him_ , and he’s in his office now."

"How is he?"

Dana's voice softens. "In shock. Devastated. Ashamed. Calling everyone he should have come out to _before_ it hit the tabloids, and talking to his publicist about damage control, whatever the hell that might be at this point."

"What happened?"

"It just happened."

Dan's whole body has been itching with a sense of impending doom since he laid eyes on that photo, and he needs to _know_.

"No, it didn’t. He's not an idiot, Dana, so what the hell happened?" 

"I’ve had this news, Dan, this _world-changing news_ , for about four hours, so maybe give me a break?” 

“Sorry.”

Dana sighs heavily. “He says he was upset, and got really drunk and really stupid. He won't say why."

Dan feels his gut curling up on itself. The “why” would be the shit Dan said to him on Friday. The same “why” that has Dan still hung over Monday morning. Fuck. 

“Right. What does Trager say?”

“That if Casey wants to stay, he stays. But if our ratings drop past a certain point, it won’t matter much anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know?” Dana asks suddenly, sharply. 

“That Casey’s had a sexual epiphany at age forty? No.” The lie falls out easy. If Casey hasn’t told her, Dan sure as hell won’t. 

 

 **II.**  
_Former_ Sports Night _colleagues Casey McCall and Dan Rydell also caught up at the awards dinner yesterday. When Rydell, now a_ New York Times _columnist and_ ESPN _contributor, left_ Sports Night _in 2004, sources claimed that a personal rift between the two anchors - and real-life best friends - might have been the cause, but the pair seemed close as ever at the Sheraton last night, posing together for photographs._

Dan smiles at the caption. It’s a good picture of the two of them, too; looking dapper in tuxedos, smiling like they really enjoyed seeing each other. 

He sits down by the computer, trying to focus on his column draft, pausing every few minutes to look at the photo and re-read the caption. 

"It's a really good picture," Abby says by way of greeting, as if she's been expecting his call. She doesn’t sound at all annoyed with him for calling during her lunch hour. 

"Yeah," he says.

"Does it bother you?"

"Why would it bother me?”

“You tell me.”

Dan pauses. Bites his lip. “Nobody knows.”

“You never told anyone.”

“We were fine when I quit the show.”

“I know.”

"We were fine for almost a year after that."

"I know."

“We talked for like two minutes last night. About the nominees. And the weather.”

Abby doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches for more than a minute before Dan finally gets it out: “He hates me, Abby.”

“You think so?”

“We'd known each other for fifteen years, and he had never given me any indication that... He didn't even know it himself until like two months before, but he still expected me to be fine with it immediately, no questions asked."

"And you couldn't?"

"Could you have?"

"Probably not," Abby says lightly. "But that wasn't all, though."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't just come out to you. There was something else." 

Dan doesn't reply, listening to the sound of his own breaths, counting them quietly.

"There was something else. Something that would account for how you were basically drunk for a week and missed a print deadline and two appointments with me. I’m willing to bet it would also account for how Casey got so drunk that he accidentally outed himself to the whole world."

"He came out to me and I handled it badly, that was it."

“We have an appointment tomorrow, why don’t you think about it until then?” She pauses for a moment. “I’m glad you feel ready to talk about this.” She doesn’t say ‘finally’ but Dan can still hear it, loud and clear, like Dana’s voice used to be right in his ear during shows.

After Abby hangs up, Dan looks at his phone, even pulls up Casey’s number, holds his finger on the button. He tries to imagine what he could possibly say. 

_Hi, I know we haven’t really talked in a year, but we look good together in a picture in the paper today, and I know that I was the one who left, but I think I'm ready for you to forgive me for being such a monumental dick when you told me you were in love with me._

Yeah. He sighs and puts his phone away, trying again to focus on the column. Later, he throws the paper in the recycling bin for good measure.

 

 **III.**  
The police photos are leaked, like Casey's fucking Rihanna or something. Dan knows he shouldn't click the link, that way madness lies and all that, but he does it anyway.

They’re worse than he expected. He has to take a couple of deep breaths and scroll down past them, quickly. He reads the accompanying article instead, although he's read a hundred variations of the same one all over the Internet for three days: Casey McCall, anchor of _Sports Night_ , was assaulted outside Yankee Stadium after the game. Witnesses claim to have heard the attackers using homophobic slurs while assaulting the openly gay McCall (bisexual, Dan thinks, Casey's bisexual). Police are investigating the incident as a potential hate crime. McCall, via his publicist, has declined to comment, save to ask for privacy while he's recovering.

This particular incarnation of the article goes on to detail some of the other harassment that Casey has been exposed to over the years. Most Dan knows about already, because Natalie’s told him over drinks or it's trickled out in the media. How Casey usually sits in press boxes these days because he's invariably heckled by some drunk douchebag if he ventures out to the stands. How he was once fucking _spit on_ by an ostensibly professional athlete. How there are death threats sent to the _Sports Night_ offices. He didn't know about the football players who refuse to be interviewed by Casey, they must have gotten that from someone at the show, but it’s not physically possible to get any angrier than he is already. 

The article closes with a quote from Casey. Dan recognizes it from the thing in the Advocate years ago. 

_I never wanted for my personal life to be some kind of implicit political statement, but it appears that’s what it’s turned into anyway. I'm starting to make my peace with that._

He wonders unkindly if Casey -- with a fractured eye socket and a broken jaw, basically beaten half to death -- feels at peace with it now. 

 

 **IV.**  
Dan has no trouble admitting that he reads gossip blogs, nor that he regularly scans _Page Six_ for names he knows. He doesn’t do it for entertainment as much as it's a way of keeping himself up to date. Also (and this part he does have considerable trouble admitting), he’s looking for the intermittently appearing pictures of Casey with his latest flavor of the month. For a man of his age, he goes through flings with alarming speed, and there is a very real chance that Casey has passed Dan in number of sexual partners sometime in the last decade. When he was in his twenties, this would have disturbed Dan a great deal. As it is, he only allows himself to hope to God that Casey uses protection.

There’s nothing unusual about the photo. It’s a typical candid shot, the kind gossip blogs post all the time. Casey, walking along some sunny New York street, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, sunglasses and a beanie, sporting the very early stages of his summer beard. Dan has to admit that Casey looks damned good, and notes, not for the first time, that the stylist was an _incredibly_ good investment. She would go spree shopping three or four times a year, put together looks and accessories and write it all down, sometimes with helpful illustrations, and assumed dictatorial reign over the state of his hair. Casey might still be terminally uncool, but at least he can fake it with the best of them these days.

The point of the photo, apart from how Casey really does look damned good, is the blond walking next to him in skinny jeans, a cardigan and a fucking _fedora_. He’s young. Really young, too young, especially too young for Casey who, however damned good he might look and however young he might dress, is pushing fifty fast. This guy must be in his early twenties. Dan frowns and picks up his phone. If Casey’s publicist hasn’t told him what a _spectacularly_ bad idea it is to fuck twenty-two-year-olds, Dan will have to. Seriously, Casey is old enough to be this kid's -- Dan stops. Looks at the picture again, squinting and taking a moment to read the caption:

 _Ch-ch-ch-check out this hot celeb-spawn! Yummy_ Sports Night _anchor Casey McCall is pretty much the ONLY thing that can get us interested in sports, and it seems the apple doesn't fall far. Charlie McCall is a journalist, just like his hot poppa, and will be covering Wall Street for_ NYT _\- he just might be the only thing to get us interested in the stock market! DROOL!_

He puts his phone down, chiding himself for being an idiot. He closes the browser tab, goes to get himself some coffee and tries not to consider how he feels about not recognizing Charlie. 

 

V.  
He spots Charlie across the ballroom at the Times Christmas party, and isn’t sure if he should go over. A few minutes later, the decision is taken out of his hands when Charlie comes over carrying two bottles of beer. He offers him one, saying “Hi, Dan,” as if it hasn’t been ten years and change. 

“Hey, Charlie,” Dan says, and searches in vain for the right words. He’s not sure how to say _“Sorry that I suddenly disappeared out of your life. It was your dad’s fault, really, because he fell in love with me, except it was really my fault because I couldn’t deal with it”_ without actually saying, well, that. He says “How are you?” instead. 

“Good,” Charlie says. “Tired. The kids are a handful.” He smiles wryly as Dan does a double take and almost chokes on a sip of beer. 

“You have kids? Plural?”

Charlie nods. “Anna’s three and Jamie’s ten months old.”

Dan shakes his head in disbelief, and catches the dull gleam of a gold band on Charlie's left hand. “And you didn’t think that an announcement in the paper might be nice? Give estranged uncles some warning?”

Charlie shrugs. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and Dan realizes this conversation isn’t going to be friendly catching up. He looks around warily. 

“Let’s go outside.”

The roof patio is decked out with heaters and a winter garden, but nobody smokes anymore, so they’re almost alone. They sit in a corner, and Charlie gives Dan a look that’s all McCall. 

“It’s been ten years, Dan,” he says without preamble. “You don’t think you’ve maybe punished him enough?”

“Punished? What the hell are you talking about?”

“He was in love with you.”

“Yeah,” Dan answers, although it didn’t sound like a question.

“And something happened with you guys, although God only knows what, because Dad won’t tell me. His life imploded and you disappeared. And he’s been fucking miserable ever since.”

“Yeah?” Dan says, feeling his ire rise. “He’s doing a good job of hiding it.”

“I know.” Charlie pinches his lips unhappily. 

“If he’s so miserable, he could have just called.”

“He doesn’t make the first move, Dan, you know that. He’s scared, that’s kind of his thing.”

“Yeah, well, people can change. The reason I know that is that he was straight for forty years, and then he wasn’t anymore and I had to be okay with that in five seconds flat. Then --" Dan sighs, remembering. "Then he told me he was in love with me, and I freaked out. There’s no nice way to put it, I freaked the fuck out.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I don’t remember exactly what I said,” Dan lies, “but it was bad. I tried calling him later that weekend, but he never picked up. I went over there, he wasn’t home. Then, they published those pictures, and...” He shakes his head. 

“Yeah,” Charlie says.

“We talked once, after that, but we both ended up saying stuff we shouldn’t have, and it was just a mess. I don’t think either of us were particularly interested in working it out, back then. It was easier to be angry.”

“And now?”

“And now it’s been ten years, and I’m pretty sure that if there ever was a moment, it’s passed.”

Charlie looks at him for a long moment before he nods, pulls out his phone, finds a picture and hands the phone to Dan. They’re cute kids. Anna looks almost eerily similar to Charlie at age three, and Dan says so, adding, “hopefully she’ll outgrow it.” Charlie snorts, and again, Dan’s struck by how alike Casey he is. Fucking McCalls. 

“I’m gonna head home,” Charlie says and gets up. “I’ll see you around.”

“Charlie,” Dan says, cursing the way his voice quivers a little. “How is he? Really?”

“Really?” Charlie wets his lips, thinking for a moment. “He’s fifty and trying his damndest to fuck his way through the population of Manhattan. You took Psych 101, right?”

“Yeah,” Dan says, but Charlie’s already walking away. 

Dan drains his beer and takes out his phone. Calling Casey might be a bad idea, but Dan’s fresh out of good ones and he needs to hear his voice. Dan goes through his entire contact list a few times before remembering that he deleted Casey’s unlisted number in a fit of pique a couple of years ago. Anthony’s it is, then. 

 

He sees Casey the second he enters, leaning in over a table, flirting with some guy. Some _young_ guy. Dan has only taken a few steps towards them when Casey looks up. He keeps eye contact until Dan is right behind his date.

“Dan.”

"Hi. Can we talk for a minute?” 

Dan can’t read Casey’s expression. He used to be able to, and it rattles him that he can’t anymore. Finally, Casey nods. 

“Ben, I will be right back,” he says with an easy smile at the guy. “Outside?” he asks Dan as he gets up. 

“Yeah.”

The alley is damp and dark and even though this December is unseasonally warm Dan shudders. Casey isn’t even wearing a jacket, but then he’s always had a Midwestern zen-like approach to cold weather. Right now, though, he’s looking at Dan, waiting for him to say something.

“I saw Charlie at the Times Christmas party.”

“Yeah,” Casey says, looking puzzled. “He said he was going.”

“He’s married. Kids.” 

“Yeah.”

“I would have thought you’d warn him about getting married that young.”

Dan wants to kick himself. Of all the things he wants to say to the man in front of him, awkward judgmental chit-chat about Charlie doesn’t even come close to the top of the list. Casey’s eyes narrow.

“Dan,” he says, “I know you’ve missed a lot with Charlie. If you’re here because you want to hang out with him and get to know Sarah and the kids, go ahead. I don't give a shit, I don't want to know about it.”

“I’m not-- I…” Dan trails off, and closes his eyes. He really didn’t think this through. "I've thought about calling you every day," he offers.

"And yet, you never did."

Dan doesn't have an answer to that. He looks down, counts his breaths, until Casey sighs heavily.

“I closed the book on you and me a long time ago, Dan." He pauses. "Now, I have a very hot twenty-eight-year-old in there who thinks _Sports Night_ is the best thing since sliced bread, so I’m going to go back inside.”

“My dad died,” Dan says desperately to Casey’s retreating back. 

Casey stops, turns around. His expression is completely different, almost like the Casey Dan used to know.

“I know,” he says carefully. “Natalie told me.” He pauses for a moment, studying Dan’s face intently. “Let me get my coat, we’ll go somewhere.”

Dan follows him inside and watches him get his coat and say goodbye to Ben, who writes something on a slip of paper that Casey pockets with a dazzling smile. 

“Phone number?”

He tries to be casual, throwing the question out as they leave Anthony’s.

“Address.” Casey’s ears turn a little pink, and Dan smiles to himself. Good to know he’s not completely jaded.

“I’m… I didn’t mean to blackmail you into coming with me. It’s just that nobody knows about my dad, except Abby, and she doesn’t really count.”

“It’s okay,” Casey says softly. They don’t say anything else until they sit on opposite sides of a booth in the coffee place a few blocks over.

“It was Lou Gehrig’s, right?” Casey’s question is almost off-hand, he seems to be hard at work committing Dan’s face to memory, probably replacing his mental image of thirty-seven year old Dan with the forty-seven year old one. Dan can’t imagine that’s any sort of improvement. 

“Yeah.”

“That’s the one where your muscles…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

Dan sighs. He’s not sure where to go from here, but it is somehow soothing just to be with Casey and know that he knows. Again, Casey is the one to pick up the mantle of conversation. He was always the better one at that. 

“How long was he sick for?”

“About six months.”

Casey winces. “Did the two of you get to... I mean, did he --”

“Forgive me for murdering his favorite son? No.”

“You didn’t murder Sam,” Casey’s expression is suddenly very intense. “Your dad didn’t think so either.” 

Dan shrugs. “We got most of our stuff in order before his vocal cords went.”

“Just not the biggest stuff.”

“Yeah. I guess we were kind of working up to that. What about your dad? He died a couple of years ago, didn’t he?”

Casey nods. “Heart attack. No goodbyes.”

“How were things with the two of you?”

Casey sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, after divorcing the mother of his grandson I don’t think there was much worse things I could really do. I think we both just pretended I wasn’t having sex.” He thinks for a beat. “So a lot like high school.”

Dan smiles into his coffee cup. Casey made a joke. That has to mean something. There has to be a way to… 

“Casey, I’m sorry about --”

“Listen,” Casey interrupts. “Dan, I came because you need to talk about your dad instead of bottling it up until something ignites, and after all the... _stuff_ and all this time I'm still the guy you can do that with, I get that. But this isn't -- I’m…” He trails off, searching for the rest of the sentence.

“The book’s still closed,” Dan quips, trying to quash the sinking feeling in his chest. He ought to have known this was how it was going to be. 

“I…” Casey looks completely at a loss. “This is nice. Subject matter aside. Seeing you. Is good.”

“So… What?” 

“I don’t want to hear your apology, and I’m not ready to apologize to you." Casey pauses, thinks. “How about this: I’ll go to --” He roots around his pocket and finds a scrap of paper, looks at it. “-- Alphabet City and see Ben. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can meet some time this week? Talk. Start figuring out if… I don’t know. If there’s still something worth salvaging here.” 

He waves his hand between the two of them, and Dan feels something like hope stirring in his guts. He nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That would be good.”


End file.
